Back Stage

By T. Gephart

Rock Star? Angie Morelli was not one. Growing up next to Power Station’s drummer didn’t guarantee a taste of the limelight, unless you count catcalls at low paying gigs in seedy bars and second-rate venues. She was okay with that; working her ass off at her dad’s mechanic shop during the day meant she could live her dream at night. She didn’t need Power Station waltzing back into her life, Jason Irwin had done enough damage the first time. Could she let go of her hurt for a chance of hitting the big time?

A one-night stand right before Jason Irwin left for his big break was no big deal. Except it wasn’t just any girl— it was Angie, Troy’s hot but young and inexperienced neighbor. It should never have happened, so best he pretend like it didn’t. Ten years later he remembered exactly why he went down that road. She was even hotter and she was also pissed as hell. Sounded like the perfect combination to invite on their world tour.

The road was not the place for history. It was bound to get ugly.

Book Three of the Power Station Series

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. Gephart
• Release date: Jun 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9780992518844

T. Gephart

T. Gephart is an indie romance author who was spurred to write because she was frustrated by the lack of strong female characters in the books she was reading. Now the author of more than twenty books featuring the kind of empowered women she wanted to read about, she loves to travel, laugh, and surround herself with colorful characters who spill over from life onto the page. Born in Melbourne, Australia, she has also lived in Louisiana and Guam. For more information, visit www.tgephart.com.

Book preview

TEN YEARS AGO

God, he was sexy. All those tanned muscles, popping out proudly. I had to fight the urge not to give the man a standing ovation every time I looked at him. Which was a lot. And I was thankful. Every. Single. Time.

He was different, and I’d known that from the second I’d laid eyes on him. He wasn’t a boy, not like any I’d seen. It wasn’t just that he was older; there was something in his face, the way he walked, that set him apart. He was a man, and he wasn’t shy about showing it.

A black ’72 Mercury Montego fastback had pulled up just before dusk sometime in late May. The rumble of the V8 had me at the window before the car had even been parked in front of Troy’s house. And while the car had initially captured my attention, it was what stepped out of it that made me stand up and take notice. The way he strode to Troy’s door was almost erotic, his movements so fluid and sure that his body screamed sex. He was so hot.

He spent the summer living with Troy and his family, and I had found a renewed sense of religion spending most of my days thanking God for the creation that was Jason Irwin. Having just separated from the Army, his hair was starting to grow out of the regulation high-and-tight, while his body was still in that be-all-you-can-be shape. I whispered my silent thank-you’s to the US Government when he’d pull off his shirt.

It wasn’t just his GI Joe body that had my brain feeling like it had been blended, it was the way he would talk to me when I finally stopped being a chicken-shit and introduced myself. He didn’t treat me like a kid nor did he try and weasel himself into my panties like Dan. He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. Those times when he’d give me his attention, my world would stand still and before I could stop it, my heart wanted him more than my hormones.

The temp hadn’t dipped below a hundred in four days straight, with the last days of August proving summer wouldn’t give in to fall without one last fight. Which had encouraged him to be outside a lot, which is where I also seemed to be. I prayed every night the heat wave would never end. It was heaven on Earth. The heat, the night, and him.

Angie. His voice rumbled, his eyes slowly opening.

Sleep had been near impossible. After weeks and weeks of hoping, he finally kissed me.

Except it hadn’t been just a kiss.

His mouth had owned mine. His big strong hands around my head brought me in closer as his tongue teased the inside of my mouth. It was hot, my body almost combusting in the overload. I never wanted it to stop.

The flirting back and forth wasn’t new. Every time we spoke, my heart thumped so loud I was convinced a marching band had taken up residence. It had been the same since the moment I saw him, getting to know him had reinforced what I had already guessed. He was perfection. Beautiful. Smart. Sexy. But there was something else, a lingering darkness that I didn’t understand. He was quiet. Not rude, just held back. And damn if he wasn’t a nut I wanted to crack. Last night I had gotten that chance.

Hey. The smile on my face threatened to split apart.

This was my favorite view. Jason Irwin lying naked beneath me, his rugged arms holding me close—those dark eyes of his giving me their full attention.

That kiss—the one that would forever be elevated to the best kiss of my life—didn’t end with just some heavy petting. After asking me repeatedly if I was sure, he finally made love to me.

At first he seemed like he hadn’t wanted to. Mumbling something about not being good enough for me. He had always been so concerned about me, so kind, but he didn’t have to worry. It was exactly what I wanted and when I finally convinced him it was okay, he gave in.

Under the moonlight, in the backseat of his car.

It couldn’t have been more perfect.

Are you okay? His fingers gently moved over my shoulder and down my arm.

It tickled but I didn’t dare ask him to stop. I’d never ask him to stop. Not when we’d finally gotten together. This was going to be the start of something fantastic. I could just feel it. There were going to be so many more nights like this. Him and me. Holding each other. Loving each other.

I’m fine, I breathed against his skin, nuzzling myself closer to his neck. Our legs were twisted within the confined space of his car, the leather sticking to parts of our skin. Did I mention how perfect it had been? It could have been a penthouse bedroom at the Waldorf Astoria and it wouldn’t have been any better. His body knew exactly what to do with mine. Who knew sex could even feel like that? That I loved him, well that just made it better.

We should probably get dressed; everyone is going to be waking up soon. His body shifted under mine, the leather creaking in protest as he moved. I didn’t blame it. I wanted to protest, too.

Yeah, we should. I fished my bra out of the pile of clothes on the floor and sat up to slide it on. My dad is going to be heading to work in a few hours; I could make us breakfast as soon as he leaves. My smile hopefully hinted that he could repay me by taking care of dessert. It was my birthday after all, and I knew exactly how I wanted to spend my day. Naked, with Jason—in case anyone was wondering.

That’s not such a good idea. With a flicker of panic in his eyes, he threw water on whatever flames I had going on, his lack of a smile making me nervous.

Oh? The word had shot out of my mouth, wondering if he had something better planned. Naked on the beach could also work. It might be a bit sandy, but okay. In any case, we were still going to need to eat.

Yeah, I think it’s best if we just … did our own thing.

He wanted to play it cool. Smart. I mean I had just turned eighteen and while I had no issue with the seven-year age gap, my dad would probably lose his shit. He was worried. Of course he was. We’d have to keep it a secret for a while, just until everyone got used to it. Jase moving away meant it would be easier. We could date and not have to worry about prying eyes and judgmental stares. Troy might be a little weird about it at first, being that he was usually so protective. But he had to think Jason was a decent guy if he’d invited him to stay an entire summer. Plus, once he saw how in love we were, he would come around. How could he not? We wouldn’t have to mention that our first time had been in his backyard while he was blissfully asleep a few feet away. Nope, that piece of information I would take to the grave. And hopefully now Dan Evans would finally get it through his head he didn’t stand a chance. Not now that I had a boyfriend.

Sure. Did you want to meet up with me later? When the coast is clear? My panties were next on my redress mission. Difficult, seeing Jase was still naked and not making any effort to cover up. My eyes inadvertently floated down to see his cock was very much awake and ready for me now, rather than later. The surge between my thighs concluding we were very much on the same page. This was going to be the best birthday ever.

No, Angie. I’m leaving. He swallowed hard, shaking his head like he was finally convinced. What happened last night was a mistake.

Huh?

It had been more of a sound than an actual word. My mouth no longer being controlled by my brain as I processed the words he had said. Leaving and mistake being the loudest.

We shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t smart. In any case, it won’t be happening again.

It was as if a switch had been flicked, the interior of the car immediately chilling despite the sun threatening to rise at any moment. His eyes darkened, emotionless, as he threw on a T-shirt over his head. The amazing guy I had fallen in love with, gone and in his place … someone else.

I—I know you’re moving. But we can still see each other. I purposely ignored the other part of his statement. The one where he’d said I had been a mistake.

No. He reached down and shoved his legs into his jeans without bothering with his boxers. We can’t.

I don’t understand. I wasn’t sure if I had said it out loud or if it was just on a constant loop in my head. What had gone wrong?

Hey. He looked at me, I wasn’t sure if it was regret or pity in his eyes. It’s just better this way. Maybe we should just pretend it didn’t happen.

But it did happen. I blinked, wondering if it was a joke.

Yeah, it did. But it was a mistake. You understand that, right?

I felt like I was going to be sick. That word again. Mistake. The bile from my stomach surged uncomfortably as I scrambled to pull on my cotton, crumpled sundress. The one he had told me last night looked so hot on me. Shoes, they weren’t an option as I all but threw myself from his car, the dress barely covering my skin as my feet hit the dirt.

Yep, no biggie. I nodded, praying if there was any god at all he would help me not to cry. Not now. Not in front of him while he looked at me so impassively.

Hey, Angie. Are you okay? His eyes widened as my shoeless feet hit an overgrown tree root in the Harris backyard.

Pain.

The one in my foot nothing like the one that was going on in my heart. I needed to get away. Now.

Sure. Dumb tree. Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. My legs doing their best to keep me upright and get me out down the side path to the front of the house. See you, thanks. My back turned before the first tear fell.

In my head, he’d call after me. Run from his car and tell me that the mistake was this stupid conversation, and not last night.

But that didn’t happen.

And as I made it the short distance next door to the safety of my house, I’d heard the rumble of his V8.

I wished I’d been stronger. Asked him why. But I felt so dumb.

Dumb, that I’d been stupid enough to allow myself to be played.

Dumb, that I’d fallen in love with some guy who had only wanted to fuck me.

Dumb, that I’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book.

By the time I’d pulled my key from my pocket, his black Montego had already driven past.

He was gone.

And he had taken my heart with him.

PRESENT DAY

"Thank you New York and good niiigghhhhhht!" James, our front man, pumped his fist in the air as the techs killed the lights, plunging the stage into darkness.

Opening night in our hometown, and the air was motherfucking electric. Two encores and fans were still chanting for one more song, our three-hour set not long enough apparently. And damn if that shit didn’t make me feel bullet proof.

Jase! Here, dude. A towel flew through the air toward me as I stepped out from behind the keys; my hand grabbed it and slung it over a shoulder. Was going to need more than that to mop up the sweat that was pouring off me. The excitement wasn’t going to wash off even with the shower.

Thanks, man! I said to no one in particular, not sure entirely which one of the roadies had been my hook-up.

My muscles ached, tightly coiled from exhaustion, but even still it would be a hard task to wipe the smile off my face.

Fuck, that felt good. Troy toweled off his face as he fell into step beside me, our feet taking us off the stage and down the stairs. It’s been too long. Recording is one thing, but playing in front of a crowd. That shit never gets old. Big ass smile on his face was the hint he was feeling the same way I was.

Truth, right? Dan jogged up beside us as we made our way to the back of house area. I don’t give a shit how many times we play Madison Square Garden. Every time I get on that stage, I almost blow my load.

Save it for your wife, asswipe; no one wants to hear about your jizz. Troy’s stank-ass towel flew over my head and clocked Dan right in the mouth. He had it opened too, so that got extra points. I ignored the subsequent name-calling that erupted as a result. It was a case of the same fuck you, asshole I’d been hearing for the last ten years. While the others got vocal with their appreciation, I did what I always did, and kept it locked down.

Not because they weren’t right on the money—that euphoric feeling of playing live for a crowd—nothing else compared. But because big, showy and emotional wasn’t my thing. Not any more at least, and not because I didn’t care. It was just better to keep an even keel. For me, unstable wasn’t a good look. Didn’t mean good things either, so I kept my shit in check. Better for everyone.

We were just five guys playing our tunes. It had always been about that. Difference now was the crowd and the venues were bigger, but if shit went down tomorrow and we were back playing a dive bar in Queens, we’d still be showing up every night and rocking its ass off.

Awesome show guys. James clapped his hand around my neck. This tour is going to be our best yet.

Our fearless leader was always the last one off the stage, Alex, our badass guitarist, usually leaving a second or two before him. They were our Lennon and McCartney, the drivers of the crazy train, and they usually got more time in the spotlight. None of us gave a shit, far as the rest of us where concerned, it was deserved.

It was the usual back and forth after a show. The high-fiving and us talking shop was our way of unwinding as we made it back to the dressing rooms. Roadies took care of securing the gear while security made sure we kept moving; us hanging around only made their jobs harder. They weren’t assholes about it, but they made it clear that the hallway was not the place for us to get warm and fuzzy.

Great show. Lexi Reed, our PR manager, greeted us as we rounded the corner. Get showered and changed. There’s no meet and greet tonight, but there’s a few people who want to show their personal adoration. She’d barely gotten the words out when Alex put his mouth on hers. Lucky for him there would be no sexual harassment charges, being that Lexi was also his wife.

The PDA was all now par for the course with every one of the band members hooked up with a significant other. Well, all except for me, and that was more than fine as far as I was concerned. While it all worked out for them, I’d learnt my lesson early on, and I’d rather piss out razor blades than go through a relationship again. Still, I wasn’t raining on anyone else’s parade. Evil son of a bitch was also something I’d left in my past. The cool, calm and collected Jase version 2.0, definitely the better of the two.

A loud bang echoed through the hall; it was followed up with a piercing and vocal motherfuuuuucckkkkkerrr! stopping any further high-fiving and/or lip action. James looked to the door where the commotion was coming from with the same what-the-fuck look on his face as the rest of us. Seemed ground zero was our support act, Unhinged Throttle’s dressing room.

Hey, maybe we poke our heads in for a sec, James nodded to the door, make sure shit isn’t getting too out of control.

Wise choice, support bands had a tendency to let the excitement go to their heads, especially ones who weren’t seasoned. It was like bringing a virgin to a gangbang— unpredictable, volatile and usually escalated quickly. Taking a look was definitely on the cards.

We let James take the lead as he rapped on the door a couple of times; a loud come on in shouted back in response. Good sign; meant at least they were still conscious. Calling 9-1-1 on opening night would have been a buzz kill.

What the fuck? Alex’s voice boomed across the room, the door opening to what could have been a scene from a bad movie. Two of the band members were on their knees doing lines of coke off a mirror. The gaping hole in the drywall that looked to be the same size of the reflective surface, a tip-off it hadn’t been an accessory they’d walked in with.

They had company as well. Three naked girls giving blow of a different variety, while two other charming ladies finding an interesting use for a champagne bottle—obviously bigger fans of each other rather than the actual band.

Hey! Wade, the lead guitarist waved us over as the girl in his lap kept up her Dyson action. Welcome to our kingdom. You guys want some H? It’s clean, my dealer is a stand-up guy.

"Wow, didn’t think when I got out of bed this morning I’d be hearing drug dealer and stand-up guy in the same sentence." Dan’s eyes widened as he checked out the scene. Had to admit, he was saying what we all were thinking.

Hardcore drug use hadn’t been part of the Power Station history. And while that shit was straight up reminiscent of my teenage years, thankfully I’d separated myself from those fucktards a long time ago. Most of them either in a cell or underground— I couldn’t make myself give a crap either way. I was just glad it hadn’t been my footnote. Which brought us to the dipshits currently in front of us.

You losers have drugs in here? Are you motherfucking insane? There are kids on this tour. The anger rolled off James like a tidal wave. If the words that jutted from his mouth weren’t enough of a clue, the bulging veins in his neck would have cleared up any misunderstanding.

Relax dude, we’re just partying. Wade held his hands up defensively, smug-ass grin on his face. This is how we do our come down.

You come down by getting high? I coughed out a laugh. Yeah these guys are fucking geniuses.

What the poster boys for Dumbasses of the Year didn’t realize was that we weren’t interested in the irony. The rage kicked up to we’re-going-to-bust-some-heads level as they were told to pack up their shit and get the fuck out.

Oh, and mention of the five-o made the girls who had been deep-throating suddenly take an interest in the conversation.

The motley crew of assholes got ready to clear out with Wade throwing in there, We’ll see you tomorrow, while he pushed his dick in his pants and zipped up.

It really shouldn’t have needed to be said. Their contracts, crystal freaking clear. Drugs on tour equaled do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Buh-bye. It didn’t matter it wasn’t my woman or child that needed protecting; they were my family and this was a hundred percent united front. And if I got to limber up and break out some old school moves with the bastards, well that would just make the evening more interesting. My guess was the collective douchebags in front of me had never seen any real action. As for me, I’d been in more street fights than I’d cared to remember. Not that the press ever got a hold of that information. Nope, my bio was sold as an Army vet who played keys and liked to knit. The knitting thing was complete bullshit of course, but it just goes to show how nobody was taking notice. FYI, no one gives a rat’s ass about the keyboard player.

No, I don’t think you understood me. James settled into an eerie calm. You’re done.

You’re firing us? Oh look, one of the other band members, Pete, suddenly decided he wasn’t mute and joined in the conversation. You can’t just fucking fire us. The unsteadiness of his voice not giving the statement the confidence he’d possibly hoped for.

Read your contract, asshole. Alex stepped in, the edge in his voice enough to chill the room a few degrees. I think we can all agree a piss test at this point isn’t needed. His raised eyebrow dared them to prove him wrong.

What happened next I could only describe as stupid-ass shit. Because clearly you should know better than to argue with a bunch of guys who were sober and not only outweighed you in muscle, but freaking brains as well. That right there should have been an advert for an anti-drug campaign. Look kids, if the drugs don’t fuck you up, the stupid shit that will come out of your mouth will finish the job.

Wade had opened his mouth, and I really didn’t care much for what he had to say. The conversation had already taken too long. Cue my fist grabbing the front of his shirt and tossing him out the door while Troy threatened to go Scorsese on the other douchebags who weren’t moving fast enough. And just like that, we’d pulled some abracadabra type shit. Boom—place cleared.

We solid, big guy? I clapped my hand around Troy’s neck hoping to help him rein in some of the rage. My time with the dark side had taught me some pretty handy tricks in talking people down from the ledge. And this guy, I’d easily take a bullet for.

He shook his head, the look in his eyes enough to convince me he was exercising as much restraint as he knew how. I don’t want Megs exposed to that, especially not while she is knocked up.

Agreed. James sunk his ass into one of the vacated chairs. That shit doesn’t go on. I’m not expecting them to be sitting around holding prayer meetings—I expected blowjobs and weed, not fucking heroin and coke.

The high we’d been on from the show took a very quick downswing; the reality of the situation hitting home. I took a seat beside James and cleared my throat. Not to be an asshole and state the obvious, but we just fired our opening act day one of our tour. Any ideas on how we’re going to play this?

Not that I didn’t concur with said firing, but tomorrow we were going to be hitting the stage again. A big gaping slot where the warm-up band should be. Going on without a pre-show was unheard of, so it was either get creative or hire some record spinner from Soho.

Everyone decent is already booked. We can probably put out a call, see who’s around? Dan grabbed his phone from his back pocket. His creased brow the tip-off he wasn’t entirely convinced, that even with his connections, he could pull off a miracle and fill the spot.

No, this just perfectly illustrates why we need to do this in house. It isn’t just us on the road anymore. We don’t need the kids finding a fucking needle ’cause some jerk-off thinks it’s the 90’s. Alex planted his ass beside James; Troy and Dan following suit in chairs opposite them. Well wasn’t this warm and fucking cozy? Pity the situation itself blew hardcore.

Alex is right, James agreed, we need someone we can trust. Now would be a good time for any ideas.

Hey what about Angie Morelli? Troy rubbed his hand through his mohawk, the mess of crap he called hair.

Angie Morelli.

Yep, just saying her name was enough to send a chill up my spine. It had been ten years, and still not long enough. Her long, black hair and dark-brown eyes, something that had taken a while to wipe from my mind. That body. Yeah, I still remembered every curve. So freaking sweet, too. Unfortunately it wasn’t only her attributes that I remembered, one of my biggest asshole moments was also front and center getting the trip down memory lane. So you would have to understand why I didn’t immediately start doing backflips and welcoming her. The idea was to avoid the drama, not to give it top freaking billing.

Dude, no. No fucking way, Dan chimed in, his words echoing exactly what was rattling around in my head.

Thank you, douchebag. An Angie reunion was bad news. There had to be someone else. Hey, was Charlie Manson out of prison yet? I mean if we were thinking up bad ideas to take on tour, we might as well put them all on the table.

She’s still playing? James tipped his head toward Troy, taking way more interest in the topic than I would have liked. The itch to shut the conversation down danced with the need to keep my mouth shut. Delicate act. Wasn’t sure which one was going to win. Honestly, it was going to be trouble either way.

Sure is. Lexi is trying to sign her band, Black Addiction; saw them last week at a club in Brooklyn. She said they packed the house. Troy threw some more weight behind the cause. The conversation continued around me, even as the mother of all headaches took up residence in my frontal lobe.

I saw her stuff on You Tube, they’re tight. Alex nodded, the bastard not having any idea on what he was signing us up for, and I wasn’t going to be neon-signing it for him either.

C’mon! Angie? Dan rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in disgust. Troy, did you snort some of Wade’s nose candy before he left? She doesn’t have the chops for a stadium. Besides, she hates us.

Had to admit, this was one time where I was happy for Dan to be running his mouth. Giving him a round of applause would have been too conspicuous, so I kept it on the down low, but I was a hundred percent behind his stance. The fact it wasn’t me who was leading the anti-Angie movement was a fucking bonus.

"No, she hates you." Troy smirked. The Dan v Angie battles common knowledge.

No, she fucking hates Jase, too.

The motherfucker had to go there. He couldn’t have left it with his own reasons for not wanting her around. He had to go ahead and drag me into it.

Hate is a pretty strong word, let’s go with a strong dislike. I eased back into the chair knowing well enough that it wasn’t going to be the last on the topic I was going to have to volunteer. Fucking Dan.

Dan I understand, but why you, Jase? Troy’s raised eyebrow proving he had no idea what had happened between me